GRADE 3 NATIVE AMERICAN LEGEND ILLUSTRATIONS in permanent marker and watercolor pencil
Let's have a bit of fun...below you will find three Native American legends to enjoy. When you are finished reading, click on each picture in the student gallery and see if you can identify which of the three legends each student artist chose to illustrate!
What was involved in this extensive project?
*exposure to a wide variety of beautifully illustrated books including those without text
*the mapping out of story elements included in the creation of artist illustrations
*the exploration of various Native American cultures (clothing, shelter, environment...)
*completion of a mathematics student learning objective involving frame measurement
*implementation of visual story mapping through the creation of an original illustration
*comparison and application in the use of tribal design
*experimentation in the use of watercolor pencil techniques
...and I have to say that both 3rd grade classes did an amazing job!!!
The Legends:
COYOTE DANCES WITH A STAR a CHEYENNE indian legend
Because the Great Mystery Power had given Coyote much of his medicine, Coyote himself grew very powerful and very conceited. There was nothing, he believed, that he couldn’t do. He even thought he was more powerful than the Great Mystery, for Coyote was sometimes wise but also a fool. One day long ago, it came into his mind to dance with a star. “I really feel like doing this,” he said. He saw a bright star coming up from behind a mountain, and called out: “Hey, you star, wait and come down! I want to dance with you.”
The star descended until Coyote could get hold of him, and then soared up into the sky, with Coyote hanging on for dear life. Round and round the sky went the star. Coyote became very tired, and the arm that was holding onto the star grew numb, as if it were coming out of its socket.
“Star,” he said, “I believe I’ve done enough dancing for now. I’ll let go and be getting back home.”
“No, wait, we’re too high up,” said the star. “Wait until I come lower over the mountain where I picked you up.”
Coyote looked down at the earth. He thought it seemed quite near. “I’m tired, star; I think I’ll leave now; we’re low enough,” he said, and let go. Coyote had made a bad mistake. He dropped down, down, down. He fell for a full ten winters. He plopped through the earth clouds at last, and when he finally hit ground, he was flattened out like a tanned, stretched deerskin. So he died right there.
Now, the Great Mystery Power had amused himself by giving Coyote several lives. It took Coyote quite a few winters, however, to puff himself up again into his old shape. He had grown quite a bit older in all that time, but he had not grown less foolish. He boasted: “Who besides me could dance with stars, and fall out of the sky for ten long winters, and be flattened out like a deer hide, and live to tell the tale? I am Coyote. I am powerful. I can do anything!”
Coyote was sitting in front of his lodge one night, when from behind the mountain there rose a strange kind of star, a very fast one, trailing a long, shining tail. Coyote said to himself: “Look at that fast star; what fun to dance with him!” He called out: “Hey, strange star with the long tail! Wait for me; come down; let’s dance!” The strange, fast star shot down, and Coyote grabbed hold. The star whirled off into the vastness of the universe. Again Coyote had made a bad mistake. Looking up from his lodge into the sky, he had had no idea of that star’s real speed. It was the fastest thing in the universe. It whirled Coyote around so swiftly that first one and then the other of his legs dropped off. Bit by bit, small pieces of Coyote fell off in this mad race through the skies, until at last only Coyote’s right hand was holding onto that fast star.
Coyote fell back down to earth in pieces, a bit here and a bit there. But soon the pieces started looking for each other, slowly coming together, forming up into Coyote again. It took a long time—several winters. At last Coyote was whole again except for his right hand, which was still whirling around in space with the star. Coyote called out: “Great Mystery! I was wrong. I’m not as powerful as you. I’m not as powerful as I thought. Have pity on me!”
Then the Great Mystery Power spoke: “Friend Coyote. I have given you four lives. Two you have already wasted foolishly. Better watch out!”
“Have pity on me,” wailed Coyote. “Give me back my right hand.”
“That’s up to the star with the long tail, my friend. You must have patience. Wait until the star appears to you, rising from behind the mountain again. Then maybe he will shake your hand off.”
“How often does this star come over the mountain?”
“Once in a hundred lifetimes,” said the Great Mystery.
—Retold from several North Californian fragments .
GRANDMOTHER SPIDER STEALS THE SUN a CHER0KEE indian legend
In the beginning there was only blackness, and nobody could see a thing. People kept bumping into each other and groping blindly. They said: “What this world needs is light.”
Fox said he knew some people on the other side of the world who had plenty of light, but they were too greedy to share it with others. Possum said he would be glad to steal a little of it. “I have a bushy tail,” he said. “I can hide the light inside all that fur.” Then he set out for the other side of the world. There he found the sun hanging in a tree and lighting everything up. He sneaked over to the sun, picked out a tiny piece of light, and stuffed it into his tail. But the light was hot and burned all the fur off. The people discovered his theft and took back the light, and ever since, Possum’s tail has been bald.
“Let me try,” said Buzzard. “I know better than to hide a piece of stolen light in my tail, I’ll put it on my head.” He flew to the other side of the world and, diving straight into the sun, seized it in his claws. He put it on his head, but it burned his head feathers off. The people grabbed the sun away from him, and ever since that time Buzzard’s head has remained bald.
Then Grandmother Spider said, “Let me try!” First she made a thick- walled pot out of clay. Next she spun a web reaching all the way to the other side of the world. She was so small that none of the people there noticed her coming. Quickly, Grandmother Spider snatched up the sun, put it in the bowl of clay, and scrambled back home along one of the strands of her web. Now her side of the world had light, and everyone rejoiced.
Spider Woman brought not only the sun to the Cherokee, but fire with it. And besides that, she taught the Cherokee people the art of
pottery making.
—From a tale reported by James Mooney in the 1890s.
BUTTERFLIES A PAPAGO indian legend
One day the Creator was resting, sitting, watching some children at play in a village. The children laughed and sang, yet as he watched them, the Creator’s heart was sad. He was thinking: “These children will grow old. Their skin will become wrinkled. Their hair will turn gray. Their teeth will fall out. The young hunter’s arm will fail. Those wonderful flowers—-yellow and blue, red and purple—will fade. The leaves from the trees will fall and dry up. Already they are turning yellow.” Thus the Creator grew sadder and sadder. It was in the fall, and the thought of the coming winter, with its cold and lack of game and green things, made his heart heavy.
Yet it was still warm, and the sun was shining. The Creator watched the play of sunlight and shadow on the ground, the yellow leaves being carried here and there by the wind. He saw the blueness of the sky, the whiteness of some cornmeal ground by the women. Suddenly he smiled. “All those colors, they ought to be preserved. I’ll make something to gladden my heart, something for these children to look at and enjoy.”
The Creator took out his bag and started gathering things: a spot of sunlight, a handful of blue from the sky, the whiteness of the cornmeal, the shadow of playing children, the blackness of a beautiful girl’s hair, the yellow of the falling leaves, the green of the pine needles, the red and orange of the flowers around him. All these he put into his bag. As an afterthought, he put the songs of the birds in, too. Then he walked over to the grassy spot where the children were playing. “Children, little children, this is for you,” and he gave them his bag. “Open it; there’s something nice inside,” he told them.
The children opened the bag, and at once hundreds and hundreds of colored butterflies flew out, dancing around the children’s heads, settling on their hair, fluttering up again to sip from this or that flower. And the children, enchanted, said that they had never seen anything so beautiful.
The butterflies began to sing, and the children listened smiling.
But then a songbird came flying, settling on the Creator’s shoulder, scolding him, and saying: “It’s not right to give our songs to these new, pretty things. You told us when you made us that every bird would have his own song. And now you’ve passed them all around. Isn’t it enough that you gave your new playthings the colors of the rainbow?”
“You’re right,” said the Creator. “I made one song for each bird, and I shouldn’t have taken what belongs to you.”
So the Creator took the songs away from the butterflies, and that’s why they are silent. “They’re beautiful even so!” he said.
—Retold from various sources
(click photos for artist names and to enlarge)
Because the Great Mystery Power had given Coyote much of his medicine, Coyote himself grew very powerful and very conceited. There was nothing, he believed, that he couldn’t do. He even thought he was more powerful than the Great Mystery, for Coyote was sometimes wise but also a fool. One day long ago, it came into his mind to dance with a star. “I really feel like doing this,” he said. He saw a bright star coming up from behind a mountain, and called out: “Hey, you star, wait and come down! I want to dance with you.”
The star descended until Coyote could get hold of him, and then soared up into the sky, with Coyote hanging on for dear life. Round and round the sky went the star. Coyote became very tired, and the arm that was holding onto the star grew numb, as if it were coming out of its socket.
“Star,” he said, “I believe I’ve done enough dancing for now. I’ll let go and be getting back home.”
“No, wait, we’re too high up,” said the star. “Wait until I come lower over the mountain where I picked you up.”
Coyote looked down at the earth. He thought it seemed quite near. “I’m tired, star; I think I’ll leave now; we’re low enough,” he said, and let go. Coyote had made a bad mistake. He dropped down, down, down. He fell for a full ten winters. He plopped through the earth clouds at last, and when he finally hit ground, he was flattened out like a tanned, stretched deerskin. So he died right there.
Now, the Great Mystery Power had amused himself by giving Coyote several lives. It took Coyote quite a few winters, however, to puff himself up again into his old shape. He had grown quite a bit older in all that time, but he had not grown less foolish. He boasted: “Who besides me could dance with stars, and fall out of the sky for ten long winters, and be flattened out like a deer hide, and live to tell the tale? I am Coyote. I am powerful. I can do anything!”
Coyote was sitting in front of his lodge one night, when from behind the mountain there rose a strange kind of star, a very fast one, trailing a long, shining tail. Coyote said to himself: “Look at that fast star; what fun to dance with him!” He called out: “Hey, strange star with the long tail! Wait for me; come down; let’s dance!” The strange, fast star shot down, and Coyote grabbed hold. The star whirled off into the vastness of the universe. Again Coyote had made a bad mistake. Looking up from his lodge into the sky, he had had no idea of that star’s real speed. It was the fastest thing in the universe. It whirled Coyote around so swiftly that first one and then the other of his legs dropped off. Bit by bit, small pieces of Coyote fell off in this mad race through the skies, until at last only Coyote’s right hand was holding onto that fast star.
Coyote fell back down to earth in pieces, a bit here and a bit there. But soon the pieces started looking for each other, slowly coming together, forming up into Coyote again. It took a long time—several winters. At last Coyote was whole again except for his right hand, which was still whirling around in space with the star. Coyote called out: “Great Mystery! I was wrong. I’m not as powerful as you. I’m not as powerful as I thought. Have pity on me!”
Then the Great Mystery Power spoke: “Friend Coyote. I have given you four lives. Two you have already wasted foolishly. Better watch out!”
“Have pity on me,” wailed Coyote. “Give me back my right hand.”
“That’s up to the star with the long tail, my friend. You must have patience. Wait until the star appears to you, rising from behind the mountain again. Then maybe he will shake your hand off.”
“How often does this star come over the mountain?”
“Once in a hundred lifetimes,” said the Great Mystery.
—Retold from several North Californian fragments .
GRANDMOTHER SPIDER STEALS THE SUN a CHER0KEE indian legend
In the beginning there was only blackness, and nobody could see a thing. People kept bumping into each other and groping blindly. They said: “What this world needs is light.”
Fox said he knew some people on the other side of the world who had plenty of light, but they were too greedy to share it with others. Possum said he would be glad to steal a little of it. “I have a bushy tail,” he said. “I can hide the light inside all that fur.” Then he set out for the other side of the world. There he found the sun hanging in a tree and lighting everything up. He sneaked over to the sun, picked out a tiny piece of light, and stuffed it into his tail. But the light was hot and burned all the fur off. The people discovered his theft and took back the light, and ever since, Possum’s tail has been bald.
“Let me try,” said Buzzard. “I know better than to hide a piece of stolen light in my tail, I’ll put it on my head.” He flew to the other side of the world and, diving straight into the sun, seized it in his claws. He put it on his head, but it burned his head feathers off. The people grabbed the sun away from him, and ever since that time Buzzard’s head has remained bald.
Then Grandmother Spider said, “Let me try!” First she made a thick- walled pot out of clay. Next she spun a web reaching all the way to the other side of the world. She was so small that none of the people there noticed her coming. Quickly, Grandmother Spider snatched up the sun, put it in the bowl of clay, and scrambled back home along one of the strands of her web. Now her side of the world had light, and everyone rejoiced.
Spider Woman brought not only the sun to the Cherokee, but fire with it. And besides that, she taught the Cherokee people the art of
pottery making.
—From a tale reported by James Mooney in the 1890s.
BUTTERFLIES A PAPAGO indian legend
One day the Creator was resting, sitting, watching some children at play in a village. The children laughed and sang, yet as he watched them, the Creator’s heart was sad. He was thinking: “These children will grow old. Their skin will become wrinkled. Their hair will turn gray. Their teeth will fall out. The young hunter’s arm will fail. Those wonderful flowers—-yellow and blue, red and purple—will fade. The leaves from the trees will fall and dry up. Already they are turning yellow.” Thus the Creator grew sadder and sadder. It was in the fall, and the thought of the coming winter, with its cold and lack of game and green things, made his heart heavy.
Yet it was still warm, and the sun was shining. The Creator watched the play of sunlight and shadow on the ground, the yellow leaves being carried here and there by the wind. He saw the blueness of the sky, the whiteness of some cornmeal ground by the women. Suddenly he smiled. “All those colors, they ought to be preserved. I’ll make something to gladden my heart, something for these children to look at and enjoy.”
The Creator took out his bag and started gathering things: a spot of sunlight, a handful of blue from the sky, the whiteness of the cornmeal, the shadow of playing children, the blackness of a beautiful girl’s hair, the yellow of the falling leaves, the green of the pine needles, the red and orange of the flowers around him. All these he put into his bag. As an afterthought, he put the songs of the birds in, too. Then he walked over to the grassy spot where the children were playing. “Children, little children, this is for you,” and he gave them his bag. “Open it; there’s something nice inside,” he told them.
The children opened the bag, and at once hundreds and hundreds of colored butterflies flew out, dancing around the children’s heads, settling on their hair, fluttering up again to sip from this or that flower. And the children, enchanted, said that they had never seen anything so beautiful.
The butterflies began to sing, and the children listened smiling.
But then a songbird came flying, settling on the Creator’s shoulder, scolding him, and saying: “It’s not right to give our songs to these new, pretty things. You told us when you made us that every bird would have his own song. And now you’ve passed them all around. Isn’t it enough that you gave your new playthings the colors of the rainbow?”
“You’re right,” said the Creator. “I made one song for each bird, and I shouldn’t have taken what belongs to you.”
So the Creator took the songs away from the butterflies, and that’s why they are silent. “They’re beautiful even so!” he said.
—Retold from various sources
(click photos for artist names and to enlarge)